All In His Head
by Darin's-Sis
Summary: What happens to a man when you take away everything he knows and believes about himself? B/A Friendship Reviews always welcome.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not own these characters. If I did, Goren and Eames would be on their honeymoon. Also, I do not have personal experience with survivors of this affliction. I did research and have attempted to be as accurate as possible within the story frame. I apologize if anyone finds an inaccuracy offensive.

**Point of View**: Robert Goren only

**Timeline**: After Frame

**Spoilers**: None

Our suspect is an idiot and we both know it. Even when faced with our evidence during the interrogation, he expects leniency. "You can't really think you are entitled to special consideration. You tried to kill several small children in an effort to financially ruin your ex girlfriend!"

You roll your eyes and I walk away, shaking my head. I am so angry that I have trouble even looking at him. Actually I am having trouble looking at anything. I am suddenly very dizzy.

Putting my hand out to where the wall was a moment ago, my hand feels cool concrete. It gives me balance although I am unable to see it.

You know something is wrong. "Bobby?" I can't find the words to answer you.

I hear you say, "Timothy Berber, you are under arrest for attempted murder and extortion. Take him down to booking."

Your hand is on my arm but I can't find your face. "Bobby? Are you okay?"

"No. Dizzy. Pounding headache."

Pulling a chair over next to me, your hand guides me to it. I hear you open the door and yell, "Jefferies, call 911. Something is wrong with Bobby."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I do not have personal experience with survivors of this affliction. I did research and have attempted to be as accurate as possible within the story frame. I apologize if anyone finds an inaccuracy offensive.

**Point of View**: Robert Goren only

My mind is numb – separated from the rest of me, and not connected. I recognize that I am in a hospital room with machines and people surrounding me. There are noises I can't decipher- are they voices or machines? I don't know.

People step in and out of my view so fast. Sometimes someone looks at me and they seem to be talking to me but I don't understand what they are saying. Only noise comes from their mouths and their faces blur.

I have questions. What is happening to me? How did I get here? When I catch someone's eye, I can't get the words out. I know what I want to say but the words slip from my grasp. The person moves away before I can find them again.

I see a clock on the wall and I try to tell the time. The numbers, however, swim in and out of focus. The harder I strain to see them, the more they move away from me.

A man stands over me, asking a question and wanting a response. I listen, listen hard, but I can't understand him. It is as if there is a wall of glass between us. He doesn't appear surprised that I can't answer. He nods and moves away.

I wonder if you are here somewhere. I know there is no one else who would come, who would care.

I am exhausted from the effort to connect with this world of strange speaking, fast moving people. I let myself slip into the quiet of darkness and sleep.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

This time when I open my eyes, the room isn't full of people and machines. It is quieter, calmer, until a woman suddenly appears on my right side. She smiles at me as she wipes the right side of my face. She says something that seems familiar but I can't quite identify.

I am confused by the fact that I didn't see her until she was right next to me. I don't miss things around me. The explanation must be that they have medicated me.

I wonder who this woman is. She has a job, a task, authority. She isn't a doctor, she is a doctor's helper, a…I can't think of the word I want.

I want to ask her name. I rush to get the words out before they are gone. They feel slippery. Even when I get them to my lips, my mouth seems unable to form them.

I try to touch my face but my arm won't move. I struggle to sit up but the she puts a hand on my shoulder. It is heavy and I don't have the strength to fight her.

NURSE! She is a nurse. That is the word I wanted.

Maybe when I wake, I will find this is all a confusing dream.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Opening my eyes later, I realize this nightmare is real.

Just moving my eyes around the room, I become nauseous and dizzy and have to close my eyes again.

I feel like I am on a crazy carnival ride where the ground moves and tilts. Everything feels liquid. I can't find my internal compass – that solid core that tells a person which way is up and which is down, what is real and what is fake.

Opening my eyes, I spot you sitting in a chair. Ahhhhhh…I've found solid ground.

You…her…name…Aim?…E?…Eames! Yes, Eames. Your name is Eames. How could I forget your name?

You haven't seen me yet so I have a moment to watch you. You look so tired. You are wearing your worried frown.

When you notice that I am awake, you walk to the bed. When you smile down at me, I smile back. At least I try but my face doesn't feel right. Has another part of me rebelled?

You say something that sounds like "Hhhhheeee."

You see my confusion and frown. "Bowee?" First I forget your name and now I can't understand you. Panic rises up in me. What is happening?

You are scared although you try to hide it by glancing out the window. Looking back, you try to cover your fear with a fake smile. I don't want your fake smile, I want answers. What the hell is going on?

Slowly, concentrating on every letter, every syllable, I say your name. "Eames?" I am sure that is what I said until I hear myself. "Ears?"

I close my mouth in shock. This isn't right. I need to think.

I am agitated and frustrated and scared. Really scared. Alarms sound, a buzz rings in my ears. A wave of nausea rolls over me. I see your lips moving but I don't have the energy to figure out what you are saying…if I even can.

There are people around me. I don't like the way the crowd pushes you back, out of my line of sight. I try to reach out for you but you are gone, swallowed up by people.

Hands hold me down, bodies lean against me. The blackness swims towards me again and I go with it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I do not have personal experience with survivors of this affliction. I did research and have attempted to be as accurate as possible within the story frame. I apologize if anyone finds an inaccuracy offensive.

**Point of View**: Robert Goren only

Waking, I see sunlight in the window. I forget…is that day or night? Day I think. Yes, day, I'm sure. But what day is it? I don't remember what day this nightmare started or even how it started.

Looking around, I see a man near the door. He appears to be talking to someone yet I don't see anyone else. I move my head to get a better look and suddenly you are standing there listening to him.

I notice that you are chewing on your lip. I know what that means. You are feeling …. Bad…worried? I want to know what is upsetting you. I want you to tell me, so I can fix it. Give me something to think about beside why I am in this hospital bed.

Nodding at the man, you look my way. You know that I am awake. You look back at the man…a doctor, I think. I want to hear what he is saying so I lift my head. Suddenly, you are gone. I know you have to be there, I can hear the sound of your voice.

I lay my head back down on the pillow and, there you are again, standing in the same spot. I have no fucking idea what is going on. Is someone playing a trick on me? Who would be so cruel? Not you.

The doctor leaves and you turn to me. Your lips smile but your eyes are bright with tears, your forehead wrinkled with worry. I watch you walk towards me. As if by magic, you disappear again. Then there you are, directly beside me. I grab your hand. I can't lose you again.

"What is happening to me?" I don't know how much of that question I actually said but you understand. You've always understood me.

"Bobby…stoates." Stoates? The bad narcotics officer I busted? What does he have to do with this?

"S-t-r-o-k-e." Stroke! No! God no! You are wrong. There is another explanation.

Your hand is pushing me back down when I hadn't even realized that I was getting up. I can see you are concerned. Your eyes move between me and your hand pushing me down. You want me to understand that I need to lie back down. I want you to understand that I need to get out of this room, this place. You push down harder.

People rush in the door and I watch you stand between them and me. I don't understand what is happening but I trust you. You are trying to handle this and I don't want to get in your way. The last time they came, you left me. I'll do anything not to lose you again.

They look from you to me with skepticism so I lay back down. Consciously I make myself relax, unclenching my fists. This seems to satisfy them and they leave.

As soon as the door closes behind them, I look down. When I was unclenching my hands, I realized that my left hand is numb. It tingles like I slept on it wrong. Normally, just thinking about my hand would bring it to my face. This time I have to consciously think – hand lift to my face. It rises as if on a 5 second delay. I look at my right hand and it moves immediately

I close my eyes and visualize the word stroke. Then I try to move the word to my lips. "Stroke?" I open my eyes and look at you.

You smile because I've said the word correctly but your eyes reflect the reality behind the word. Yes, you confirm. I've had a stroke.

I need to know everything, all the details, the symptoms, the future…everything. "Tell. Everything."

You frown a little. You say something and I close my eyes to process it. Wait…doctor…facts...correct. You are worried you will give me the wrong information and you want to wait for the doctor.

"No wait. Now."

You nod your understanding and begin talking. You talk too fast. Your fidgeting moves you out of my sight. I can keep my pride and pretend that I understand or I can admit that you lost me after you said my name. I reach out for you with my left hand. Your hand finds mine. "Slower please."

We fall into our normal pattern of questions and answers although our roles are reversed. Still, I find comfort in its familiarity.

"You a stroke." I still can't really grasp that fact but I nod so we can move forward.

"New drug - tPA – in time." I vaguely remember something about the FDA approving a drug.

"Improving." I love your hopeful smile but show me how I've improved. "You understand now." Yeah - I can sift through words to find the meaning if given time.

"Left brain." Then why can't I get my right hand to move. "Paralysis right side." How much of my body, for how long? You shrug your head to let me know you don't have the answers. "Doctor?"

I close my eyes. Fear, raw terror, washes over me, flooding me. Everything I prided myself on, my intellect, my acute awareness, my memory, my ability to physically intimidate…all gone in an instant. Gone. Who am I without those things? Will they come back? They have to come back.

I feel your cool hands on my face. I open my eyes and you are there.

"Scared" is all I can say. The tears rolling down your face match mine. "Me too Bobby."

Two…women…who are…are…stupid word I can't remember again…come in and move me to a gurney. You put your hands on my face and turn it towards you. "Taking you for tests."

I mumble a "Thank you" to you. It seems so little for what you have given me, the information I need to begin understanding.


	4. Chapter 4

**Point of View**: Robert Goren only

I count the tiles in the ceiling. Five across and seven down. That would mean there are…how many tiles? Five multiplied by seven…is 35. YES! Can I be this happy reciting the multiplication table?

You walk in followed by the doctor. "Test results are back." You smile at me but I notice your eyes are apprehensive. You are as worried as I about the results. You come to stand next to me so we face the doctor together.

Dr Steele steps to the end of the bed. Speaking slowly and stopping often, he explains what he has learned.

"Mr. Goren. You had a wake-up call yesterday in the form of a stroke caused by a blood clot. The clot was located on the left side of your brain which affected the right side of your body. That is why your right arm and leg move slower than you want."

"On admittance, you were given new drug, tPA, which dissolved the clot. Most of your initial symptoms cleared when the clot was removed."

"Our tests show trauma to your brain but no permanent damage. Your organ, nerve and tissue function are working fine. You are having some language difficulties but again we don't expect this to be permanent."

"Your right side shows some effect from the trauma and we will monitor this. Your right side may get tired faster, may feel weak when you overexert yourself. That is one of the things you will learn to compensate for in physical therapy.

"You will also begin physical and nutritional therapy this morning. A therapist will be by soon to explain your schedule. The sooner you get started, the sooner we can get you out of here."

"Going forward, you will need to stay here in the hospital through this week so we can monitor your symptoms and your reactions to medication. After this week, you will be moved to the hospital's rehabilitation unit for a few more weeks of therapy."

"What triggered this?"

"Strokes are brought on by several factors. In your case I would say that your smoking was probably the catalyst for your stroke and your lack of exercise and high salt intake encouraged it."

I do not have to look at you to feel the "I told you to stop smoking" look on your face. I can feel your eyes burning holes into the side of my head but I refuse to look.

"My job?"

"I understand from Ms. Eames that you are a detective with NYPD. She tells me that you are very good at your job and I can believe it." I noticed that he used present tense. You "**are** a detective" and "**are** very good." This gives me hope.

"Judging from improvements you've already made, I don't believe you will have permanent disability. Although it may feel otherwise to you, your judgment is fine. Your ability to comprehend and communicate has been effected by the brain trauma but they have already begun to improve."

"The rehab therapists will tell you, Mr. Goren that your recovery will depend on how much you participate in your sessions. I have found that to be true in every case. It isn't easy but the reward for perseverance is great. Do you have any questions for me?"

"If there is nothing else, I will have the nurse notify PT that you are available."

Out the door he goes and we look at each other.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ross walks in a few hours later, as you sit reading me the front page of the Times. You told me that he had been by yesterday and that he would probably be by today.

"Detective, Eames. How are you feeling?"

"I'm better Captain."

"I understand that initially you were diagnosed as having a stroke. Is that still their diagnosis?"

"Yes but no permanent damage."

"The doctor was here this morning to give us the results of Bobby's tests. He said that his brain has experienced trauma but that he has already made a lot of improvement. He said that he doesn't see any permanent damage to Bobby brain."

"Good to hear. You understand, Detective, you are on disability until the department gets a report from your doctor saying that you are fit for duty."

"Yes sir."

"Eames, I have approved a week of personal time for you. If you need more, you'll let me know."

"Yes sir Captain."

"Well, your little show in the squad almost gave Jefferies a stroke. I don't believe his prognosis is as good as yours. I had better get back and check on him."

"You'll let me know if there is anything you need?"

"Yes sir. Thank you for stopping by."


	5. Chapter 5

**Point of View**: Robert Goren only

You came with me to the first physical therapy session. The therapists assumed you were my "significant other" and I didn't correct them. There is no "other" more significant than you in my life. I don't know why you didn't correct them and I am too afraid to ask you.

I was sure it was a fluke…an accident. I assumed you didn't wanted to be there but you didn't know how to leave without appearing rude.

It was embarrassing to have you witness my limitations but my embarrassment was soon forgotten in the sweat and strain of the session. You sat quietly watching everything, participating when asked. I found myself looking for your reaction when I accomplished a task and you never disappointed me.

Then you showed up the next morning…and the morning after that...and each morning this week. You arrive about an hour before the session with a newspaper and your cup of coffee. When the nurse (yes – I can remember that word now) shows up to take me down, you follow behind the wheelchair. When the morning session is over, you push me back to my room. Lunch comes and you excuse yourself for a few hours, returning just before the afternoon session.

I asked once where you were going while the aide laid out my food. I knew it was none of my business but I couldn't stop the question before it was out, sitting in the air between us. "I'm going down to the cafeteria for a while. You've got your lunch and you need to rest up for your afternoon PT." You are right, of course.

I should've told you that you didn't have to come back. I should've said something about you having other things, more important things that you need to do. But I didn't say it; I won't because I need you here. I feel…uncertain…without you.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Tomorrow is our big day.

You will be returning to work. I wonder if Ross will assign you a new partner. Maybe he'll ask for Daniels again. I noticed that you liked him. You smiled and shook his hand when he left last time. I heard you tell him it had been a pleasure working with him.

And I am moving to the rehab unit tomorrow. I've been friendly with the females working there. I know you've seen me because I've made sure you did. I want you to know that I don't need you, that I won't miss you.

It is a lie, of course. I'll be wondering every minute what you are doing. Are you interviewing a witness, hauling in a suspect, working with the DA on a warrant?

Will you and Daniels stop at McGill's for lunch? Will he offer to pay? You always refused my offers but then you've seen my credit union records. Will you let him pay?

Yeah, tomorrow is our big day. Yippeee??

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

You know what I hate most about this stroke? I hate the inequity it has brought to our relationship.

You visit each evening after work. You tell me about your day. You fill me in on the latest office gossip. And I should be grateful right? I should be appreciative of your visit. I should be thankful you find time for your friend, the stroke victim.

Instead I'm angry. I'm angry at how eager I am for you walk through the door. My whole day is spent anticipating your visit.

Most of all, I hate that I can't walk away from you. How many times have I stepped on the elevator leaving you standing alone? How many times did I walk away when things got tough? Now you get pay back. You can walk away any time you want and leave me behind. What can I do to stop you?

A dark cloud settles over me and as fast the anger rose, it leaves replaced by depression. I've imagining the day you call to say you are too busy to come by. Maybe you won't even call. You just won't show up. It will happen, I know it. I remember how I felt visiting Mom. Some days it was a chore and she was my mother. What am I to you? An obligation.

The therapists warned us that frustration and depression are normal. For the first time I'm actually "normal" and I wish I wasn't.

This is what I hate most about this stroke!


	6. Chapter 6

**Point of View**: Robert Goren only

Here we are - our first interrogation since I've returned.

What if I can't do this? It is one thing to think the old mojo is there but what if I fall flat on my face? What if I lose a word? What if I miss a "tell?"

I know it is illogical but I have this fear in the back of my mind…what if I have another stroke? We were interrogating Mr. Berber in this very room when it happened. What if there is brain damage this time? I hang back, stand in the corner and watch you question our suspect.

Mr. Thomas is a pro-life activist, a deacon of his church (which the Mayor also happens to attend) and father of a 16 year girl who is missing. We can prove that Mr. Thomas took his daughter to get an abortion at an unlicensed, backstreet clinic. We believe he did this because he was too embarrassed to be seen entering one of the clinics he had previously picketed. We also believe that things went wrong and his daughter died as a result of a botched procedure. We need him to confess where her body is.

Abortion rights is a touchy subject for you. I watch you grill him, your disgust is blatant. You want him to admit that he is wrong and he wants you to agree he is right. We are at an impasse.

Out of habit, without conscious thought, I enter the conversation. "Mr. Thomas, she is talking about the big picture. I'm interested in the small picture. We need to locate your daughter. I know that you want to help us do that."

It was so easy. Once I started, it came as naturally as breathing. I guided him where I wanted him to go, until he backed himself right into a corner. An hour later, Mr. Thomas tells us he buried his daughter in the empty field behind his Vermont vacation home.

I am free - free from the worry, the self-doubt, the fear weighing me down. I thought this high, the high from cornering the bad guy, was lost to me forever when I woke up in that hospital room two months ago.

And there you are, smiling from ear-to-ear at me. You know how I am feeling inside. Although you would never confess it, you were probably holding your breath.

We knew Ross was watching from the other side of the glass. He was worried too. "Congratulations Detectives. Good interview. Finish up your paperwork and take the rest of the day off."

You offer to finish up the paperwork for me but I tell you that I will stay. I have things to say to you but I need time to gather my words and my courage.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

We are almost to my apartment and I still haven't spoken up. Time is running out.

"Well, good night Bobby."

"Uhm….would you like to come up? I think I've got enough food in my refrigerator that I can throw something together to feed us. That is if you don't mind salt-free, taste-free food. "

You smile. "Sure. That sounds nice."

Later, as I serve up all your favorites, you eye me suspiciously. You realize that I must have planned this meal hoping you would agree to coming up.

"It felt good being back in the interrogation room with you Bobby."

I guess this is the time for the conversation. Setting down my fork, I say, "Eames...I haven't really thanked you…for everything you did."

You appear to be as nervous as me. "There's no need Bobby. You'd do the same for me."

"You know that I would but that doesn't mean you don't deserve to hear the words."

"Alex, I've never had someone in my life that I could count on. I've always been the caregiver, the supporter, the fixer. I'm not very good at letting someone else be those things for me." These words come from my heart which isn't often given a voice.

"Really" you say with a smile.

I smile back at your attempt to lighten the mood but I need to finish this thought. "I know that remaining my partner has cost you a lot professionally and personally. I am lucky that you have stayed with me all these years."

"Bobby, I've stayed with you because I get something out of this...relationship too. I'm not very good at letting someone else take care of me either. In case you hadn't noticed."

Don't I know it.

"We're a pair, Bobby. I'm afraid that no one else will have us. I think we are just stuck with each other. Now what is for dessert?"

I bring out a jumbo bag of Skittles.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The End

**Thank you to everyone who shared their personal experiences with stroke survivors. I appreciate the generosity you showed to me.**


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